Before and After
by AirborneGirl
Summary: After the Merrick case, Alesha moves to Australia for a year. Is she forgotten? Pairing: Alesha/Matt. Set after Episode 1.07


**Before and After**

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of the characters of Law & Order: UK, like I never owned any other characters before.

**AN**: Love fades, love grows. And for now, I've found a new love in this show. I hope you all enjoy yourselves with my newest story.

**Spoilers**: Set some time after episode 1.07 "Alesha", disregarding all stories after that. Told from an outsider's POV, written in second person.

Funny. In your time as junior crown prosecutor you've prepared many victims of various crimes for their day in court, their chance to speak to the public in an attempt to get their justice. Sometimes they got it; sometimes their stories or the evidence weren't strong enough to accomplish that.

You are sorry for them whenever that happens, happy when your efforts in their name are rewarded, but until a recent past, you never really allowed yourself to get closer to the heart of the matter, always only scratching the surface of the accounts. Self-preservation, James would call it. You had to; otherwise all the underlying tragedy would smother you and render you speechless. And then who would be there for the unheard crowds who suffered daily from those who overstepped their boundaries?

But regardless of any of that, what has always seemed funny to you is that almost every victim you have ever interviewed, spoke of their lives like there was a roughly edged line between their lives before and after the tragedy that unhinged them for a long time coming.

Before and after the murder of a beloved relative or friend. Before and after they were tricked, blackmailed or forced to commit a criminal act and lost all they had acquired in the process. Before and after they were assaulted bodily or sexually. Before and after they were raped.

Yeah, real funny indeed. Until you actually really understood them. Until you became the one in the witness stand and saw the court literally from a different angle.

Ever since you took that risk, ever since you tried to remain calm and collected while retelling your horrifying experience to the people assembled in court, you know what they mean. Suddenly, a big part of your private life is open for grabs and as much as the defendant is judged; so are you. And whether or not you're found lacking any credibility, whether or not the jury feels sorry for you; in those minutes your life changes. First because of the rape itself, then even more so because of the repercussions. Now you understand the hesitance, the reluctance, the naked fear in victim's eyes.

In those few moments on that hard unyielding chair, underneath the scrutinizing eyes of so many people, it doesn't matter if they're friend or foe, it doesn't matter if your attacker gets away. All that matters is that you want to get out of there with whatever is left of your pride and never look back.

It's been months since then, but nothing's the same as it was before. Or maybe everything is, but you're not. That's probably it, but how to change back? Or should you not try and move ahead? Is that the best solution? You wish you knew. You wish you knew who to ask, who to confide in.

But your friends are few and far between and the people you work with, bless them, but even they started to treat you differently. It was subtle and again, maybe it was just your imagination, but still…

They have all watched the recordings. They have all seen you at a most vulnerable state and though you know they would never judge you for your ill-advised attempt to catch a rapist; the fact they feel sorry for you makes you cringe. You don't want James to question your ability to do your work; your professionalism, your ethics and your impartiality. You don't want George to wonder which cases are safe enough to be appointed to you. You're not quite sure if he actually does that, but you can't seem to shake the feeling that somehow, you've disappointed him. Which is like disappointing your dad by getting a low mark for a test even if you've studied for it all night.

"Have a nice weekend, Miss Phillips"

An office clerk pokes her head around the corner of your office and waves. Without answering, you wave back; startled you have again allowed your mind to drift off. Pull yourself together, Alesha. Your new life is waiting for you, you're not a victim of anyone over here.

The clock on your laptop screen informs you it's again past eight in the evening and promptly your stomach reminds you that you haven't eaten anything since the sandwich at lunch. The apple you planned to have as a snack remains forgotten in your drawer.

Quickly you shut off your computer, gather some files to take home, switch off the lights in your office and stride out into the cool evening air of the capital city of Canberra.

Yes, you're in Canberra, Australia. For a year, you've been asked to assist the High Court of Australia with the prosecution of some of the top leaders of a religious cult, charged with conspiracy to commit murder, smuggling of weapons between the UK and Australia and various other crimes like laundering money and extortion.

Your job here is to link and combine the findings of the British and the Australian police, so both countries together can round up the entire criminal organization posing as a religious movement.

When the job offer came, you jumped for it, ready for a change of pace and scenery and with the knowledge that it would look good on your resume and that it wouldn't last forever. Plus, nobody here knew anything about the rape, as it hasn't been recorded in your employee file.

So far, you have little regrets about your acceptance. The job is interesting, the people are welcoming, you live in a rather nice apartment (even though you rent it completely furnished and have had little time to make it a home) in a quiet upper class neighborhood and you've even made a few new friends.

Sure you miss your mum, even if you're always at odds with her and you miss your mates a lot, but like you keep telling yourself, it's a wonderful career move and James has promised he will keep your spot open for you when you return. Modern day communication devices help you to stay in regular touch with home, even if time differences don't. So even if you miss a party or two, you're not forgotten yet.

A smile graces your face when you recall the going away party that was organized for you in your favorite café. They were all there. George and James and some of the staff from the Crown Prosecutors Office and Natalie, Ronnie and Matt of course. They gave you a digital picture frame with group as well as individual pictures of all of them. It changes pictures every thirty seconds or so, but you can also select one picture and just leave it on.

Guess who's been smiling at you from your nightstand ever since?

Matt also gave you a mug with another picture of himself which now can be found at your office. Thank God he gave it to you in private, just after the others had left and he offered to walk you home for the last time.

Thinking of the mug makes you roll your eyes. You've actually lost sight of it a couple of times since taking it to the office. It was, all pun intended, regularly getting mugged by several women in the office, obviously believing the heat from their coffee was enhanced by the hot guy printed on said mug. Since then you keep it under lock and key whenever you have to leave your desk for longer than a minute.

You texted your findings to Matt and he sent a smiley face back to you, combined with an offer to have them made in bulk to give to all the women in the office as a Valentine's gift. And a reassurance that he would love you the most no matter what.

Pompous jerk. Still, he made your heart flutter with that last promise…oh hell, since when are you such a blushing school girl?

Matt. Always giving you a reason to smile. Yet also another reason for you to be happy this sudden appointment to the High Court Down Under won't take forever.

You miss him. His electric blue eyes, his cheeky smile, his flirtatious manner. His unyielding friendship, the only friendship you never for a moment had to question. A few weeks after the completion of the Merrick trial, when you were sharing a pizza for dinner during a lunch break from a trial preparation, he confessed to you he hadn't really watched the tape you had submitted into evidence.

"Call me a coward, but it was more than I could stand. I wish I could have plugged my fingers in my ears as well, because hearing you struggle was enough to make me wanna…"

He never finished his train of thoughts, but you understood all too well.

In fact, you thought you were one of very few privileged people who understood DS Matt Devlin very well.

A suave kind of bloke, the office flirt, who had all the women he encountered eating out of his hand and drooling over him in 5 seconds flat and knew how to use it to always get his way. That was Matt Devlin.

To others.

A gentleman. A sweet, caring, faithful friend who would gladly go to hell and back to protect the people he cared for, who fought to get justice and usually blamed himself for failing whenever a criminal fell through the cracks in the system

That was Matt Devlin to you.

And it was fantastic, if only he would ever notice just how much you wanted to whole package. The complete Matt. The angel and the demon. The reliability as well as the promiscuity. The gravity and the flirts.

Before the trail, you simply figured there could be two reasons for him to keep you at bay: either you simply weren't his type or he was cautious because you had to work together. Either way, he had always kept his flirting to a minimum. It was in his very blood to smile and wink and touch shoulders or arms or hands. As much an instinct to him as eating was to his mate Ronnie. You would never be the woman he would invite back to his apartment after a round (or more) of drinks at the bar. And you were okay with that. Most of the time.

But right after the trial (here you go again: before and after), his behavior towards you changed. A little more subtly than the others, but still. He seemed more careful. Less touchy feely. Less flirty. So serious. Against his own nature.

Of course you knew why. You would be the very last person to accuse Matt of anything but clean motives. Clearly he was afraid you might have become weary of a man's touch, afraid even. Obviously he didn't want to harm you in any way, nor himself if he ever had to feel and see you physically recoil from him.

The realization that this must be his reason didn't help you though. You didn't know exactly how to point out that his touch could never hurt you. On the contrary, you missed it like crazy. You wanted, no craved for his touch. His smile, his arm around your shoulder.

If only to feel like a desirable woman again for a brief moment, instead of a tainted victim. Someone branded. A leper.

Is that the way people regarded you after a rape? Or was that; again; all in your own mind?

The bus ride to your apartment momentarily distracts you from your musings as you push your way through the other occupants to find yourself an empty seat. A sigh escapes your mouth and you mumble a thank you to the young man who shoves his backpack out of the way so you can sit next to him. He smiles at you and you feel a bit lighter. Not a leper then after all.

Finally you reach the comfort of your temporary home, where you summon up all the leftover energy you can manage to prepare and eat a microwave meal for one. It doesn't really taste like anything, but you always have trouble eating after such a dreadfully long day.

The only thing perking you up is that it's finally weekend. And you don't have to do anything if you don't really want to. You can just hang around the apartment, go shopping downtown or find somewhere nice and quiet to soak in some sun; which is still all new to you, considering the fact that it's Valentine's day this Sunday and it's smoldering hot outside.

Snap. There goes your plan to go out to dinner with Selma this weekend. Selma is your downstairs neighbor and friend, but she's madly in love with the same man since college and so you bet her weekend is booked. You don't blame her; she deserves it, but it does seem like you'll be by yourself. Again.

With nothing but sappy movies on telly of course.

What to do? Where to go?

Your blackberry buzzes in your purse and curiosity peaked, you retrieve it from its confinements. A text from Matt. Wishing you a happy Valentine's day. You're about to text back he's two days early, when the device buzzes again and another text comes in, making you frown.

_Hope u like my gift. Should be there any moment…btw…u home?_

As soon as you reply that indeed you are, the buzzing becomes louder as he's actually trying to call you. Delighted, you click the 'answer' button.

"Matt! So great to hear your voice."

His chuckles send shivers down your spine. God, you've forgotten exactly how much you adore this man.

"It's great to hear you too, love. I miss you. Well…we all do, but I miss you most."

Another tremble. "It's not a competition, is it? Though I do miss you most too."

"Good. Just what I needed to hear. So how's Oz treating you?"

"Well enough so far, thank you."

"My mug still intact?"

"Your ugly mug is still in one piece. For now."

"Ugly? You wound me, miss Phillips."

"Your ego can take a beating."

"And here I am trying to be nice."

Your remorse is instantaneous. The last thing you want is to hurt him, even in a poorly worded joke.

"I'm sorry, Matt. You're very nice. I just wish…" You choke, suddenly unable to finish your sentence.

"You wish what, dear?"

Taking a deep gasp of air, you blurt it out. "I just wish I didn't miss you so much."

"Well, maybe I can help…"

His other words are lost in the sound of your doorbell ringing. Cautiously, since you are not expecting anyone to come for an unannounced at nine thirty in the evening, you look through the peephole in the front door. But the view is obstructed by a huge bunch of what seem to be roses.

You smile. It must be Matt's gift then. Still holding your blackberry, you thank him, but he doesn't seem to hear you, for he doesn't answer. With one hand you open the door for the delivery man while checking your phone to make sure you're still connected to Matt.

The roses are beautiful. Two dozen in total, long stemmed and fragrant and mixed with baby's breath, they manage to completely hide the face of the delivery man. For an instant, you fear it might be a trap, but quickly you expel that idea as total paranoia. This is not a Godfather movie.

"Matt, I just received a wonderful bouquet of roses. Thank you so very much, they're exquisite."

No answer comes from the other side of the ocean through your blackberry. You stare at it stupidly for a while, before trying again.

"Matt? You still here?"

A chuckle and a clear answer.

"I sure am, love."

It's not coming from the phone.

The roses are pulled out of sight, finally revealing the man holding them.

Electric blue eyes. Cheeky smile.

For a moment, you're rendered completely speechless, blinking stupidly at the man who's been occupying your every waking moment since you've arrived in this country and God only knows how long before that.

And just as you're about to say something, anything whatsoever to break the hypnotic trance you are stuck in, he renders you speechless yet again.

A strong arm, still holding the flowers, snakes around your waist and a loving hand cups your cheek and pulls you in closer. His kiss is soft, sweet and careful, as if the kisser is not quite sure his kiss is welcomed. Only when your own hands, out of their own accord, sling themselves around his neck and you open your mouth to grant entrance to his tongue, he groans and leans into your touch.

Later that night, with the picture next to your bed and the real man lying next to you in the bed, you watch him sleep. Still at a loss for words, one thing springs to mind:

The "after" part of your life just got a lot better.

You're not a leper after all…

THE END

_Hope you liked my new story. Let me know…thank you. _


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